


Arrivals and Departures

by Windymon



Series: The Beauty of Eversong Endures [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Belath puts everything in his mouth and you can't stop him, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Demon Hunter shenanigans, Demon Hunters, Demon Hunters are like ferrets really, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone needs a hug at one point or other, Grandpa Oculeth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Politics, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 18:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14878862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windymon/pseuds/Windymon
Summary: Amid lingering political turmoil, Quel'Thalas makes plans to host one well-known visitor, when a group of other infamous characters drop in. (Or glide, I suppose)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Infinity Wars segment of this story. Sorry for the explosion of characters. :P

When Lor'themar passed the room they had begun to jokingly refer to as "Oculeth's chambers," he did a double take when he saw Rommath crouched down on the floor, working on what appeared to be a telematic beacon. Oculeth was standing over him, offering him periodic words of encouragement.

"No, not there, to the left, just there, good!" the Nightborne said, one hand on Rommath's shoulder. "Now you're getting it!"

Lost as he was in his work, it took a while for Rommath to notice, but eventually he raised his head to lock eyes with him.

"I am pretty sure you haven't been cleared for work yet,” Lor'themar said, giving the mage a shrewd look. 

Rommath just huffed. "This isn't work, this is my leisure time to do with as I wish."

"He's been doing quite well, Lord Regent,” Oculeth said happily. "We will have this telematic portal to Shattrath finished in no time at all!"

"Good,” Lor'themar said with a nod. "Because time is something we have in short supply here."

"It's true then,” Rommath said, laboriously getting up from the ground. He refused the help when Oculeth offered him a helping hand. 

"Yes,” Lor'themar said, his expression solemn. "I have been informed by his assistants that Voren'thal wishes to see his home one last time. It's hardly a request I could refuse, and from what I could glean from the message he's fading fast."

Rommath's face was set in hard lines, his eyes indecipherable.

"I've been asking myself, what would have happened if Voren'thal had not surrendered when he did,” he finally said, his eyes remaining distant. "If Kael'thas would have-"

Lor'themar placed a comforting arm on his shoulder.

"Rommath, the message I got also said Voren'thal wished to speak to you specifically."

The mage finally jerked into motion again, glancing back at where Oculeth was still standing with the beacon.

"Well, I had better finish up here quickly then,” Rommath said, but not after locking eyes with Lor'themar again. What he saw there made him want to wrap his arms around him, hold him close for as long as he needed to, but not right now, not with Oculeth there.

"I'll speak with you later,” he simply said, leaving the two to their work. Or leisure time, as Rommath wished to call it.

He continued to his office, where Valtrois was waiting for him. There was one similarity with Rommath, the look she gave him as he sat down in front of the mounds of paperwork waiting for him. She seemed to have nothing to say for the moment, so he dove into what he had left behind last night. 

Ah, yes, the farmers that refused to pay taxes because of "unrest due to the recent battle having upset their production," even though few farmers had made any attempt to resettle into the Ghostlands and would thus be outside of the affected area. And then the city merchants were in turn complaining of what they saw as exorbitant fees the farmers were charging for their produce. Lor'themar could feel his hair pale a shade or two just from reading this.

Surely the merchants could be made to understand that with their isolated position their only choice was to either import from Kalimdor, or just accept whatever the farmers were asking. Perhaps he should make an attempt at speaking to the farmers in person, to see if there was any way to find a middle ground.

He looked up to see Valtrois studying him with her soft violet eyes. Perhaps she'd see is as a sign of weakness to have the Lord Regent himself go to such lengths, with Rommath he would have been able to delegate this task and he'd not asked any questions, but now... He'd make some excuse, Thas'dorei needed the exercise anyway. 

"Lord Regent,” Valtrois said and for a moment Lor'themar wondered if she had managed to read his mind. "I have been meaning to ask, without meaning any offense of course, but you do know books are meant to go in bookcases?"

He managed to not react too strongly to her words, but still found himself glancing around the room. Yes, his office was a bit messy, wasn't it?

"I am well aware what bookcases are meant for, Arcanist," he simply said staring down at the papers in front of him. 

"Oh, good!" Valtrois actually sounded relieved. "I was worried about how much might have changed on the outside over the years."

To his chagrin Valtrois started to put the books away, perusing them briefly before slotting them in place. She even offered him a kindly smile as she did this. This was actually worse than Rommath, now he wasn't treated as an errant student, but a silly child.

"Oh, by the way,” Valtrois said, almost as an afterthought as she put away "The Memoirs of Dath'remar Sunstrider Vol. 3: The War of the Ancients" in its designated place. "There was a message from Halduron Brightwing this morning."

"Well, where is it then?" he asked, trying not to sound as irritable as he felt. 

"I placed in there in front of you,” Valtrois said, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I thought you would see it?"

Lor'themar began to dig through the piles, trying not to shove the recent paperwork too far to the side.

"Well, I recall what it said,” Valtrois said, one tome still clutched in one of her finely manicured hands. "He reported that one of his patrols on southern coast of the Ghostlands spotted a glowing object falling into the sea not too far off from Windrunner Spire. As soon as he received word of it he left with some extra men to investigate it."

Lor'themar leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"I have half a mind to head over there and see for myself,” he said, but quickly caught the pointed stare from the arcanist. "But I won't, there is quite enough to deal with here."

Valtrois nodded before she resumed her shelving. Lor'themar had half a mind to tell her that he had been perusing some of those books and now he would forget his place, but he thought better and went back to his work. Other than the conflict with the farmers, he also had to plan for Voren'thal's eventual arrival... And then quite likely, he also had to plan the man's funeral.

He desperately wanted Rommath back by his side now.

After a couple of dreadful hours Lor'themar had just about started on a request from the Magisterium to add some floors to its west wing ‘as the addition of a second tower would add a tasteful symmetry hitherto not seen since the early days of Dath'remar, provide additional space for research and would ensure that students attempting to sneak away from obligations do not wander into Al'ar's chamber’. Someone had attempted to scratch over the last part and added "though students playing hooky should be punished, and why not punishment by angry phoenix god".

When an angry Farstrider strode in despite the protests from the guards outside he felt a shameful wash of relief. 

"They did it again!" said the Farstrider, whose name escaped him at the moment. Halduron would probably know... And Rommath. "I told Bemarrin to keep an eye on his apprentices after the last time! I have half a mind to use him for target practice!"

A light finally went off inside Lor'themar's head as the name that matched the face popped up in his head.

"Peace, We'thas,” he said. "I'm sure it was an honest mistake this time as well. It takes time to learn to handle the heavy tools with care."

"Maybe Bemarrin should take more care with picking his apprentices then!" We'thas practically snarled. "I almost got the hammer on my head this time!"

Lor'themar took a carefully controlled breath, then got up from behind the desk and walked over to the still seething ranger. 

"How about I walk with you to speak with Bemarrin, and the apprentice in question and we will sort this out once and for all?" 

The ranger seemed to calm at that, glancing off towards the door he has just come through, as if he finally realized how it must have looked to come in here unannounced.

"I suppose that would suffice, Lord Regent,” We'thas said and Lor'themar all too happily strode out of the room beside him, now faced with a far more practical duty.

"Lord Regent,” Valtrois called after him. "I have us scheduled for a scheduled a meeting with the head of the tailor's guild in an hour."

"Reschedule it!" Lor'themar called back. "I have another thing I must attend to after this."

He could not see Valtrois’ face as he'd already walked out into the throne room, but he could imagine the sort of look she might be wearing now. After all, he'd seen it often enough on Rommath's face.

After he'd had a talk with Bemarrin because honestly, they should just have the archery range moved a few feet, he pulled out the missive he'd pilfered from his office, the one from the farmers and made his way to the stables. If he set off for Fairbreeze Village now, he should be back by the evening, if all went well.

 

It had done Lor'themar a world of good to be outside and on the back of his hawkstrider again. Even though the negotiations with the farmers he had met had not gone as smoothly as he'd hoped, they'd still been cordial about the whole matter and eventually they had agreed that yes, perhaps they would like to send some representatives to talk with the merchants of the city. It had all ended with a humble, but hearty repast of fruit, cheese and cured meats. Despite his current station and the many lavish dinner he'd hosted himself, there was something comforting about simple fare like this.

Valtrois had not been too pleased when he finally returned and she dropped a short stack of paperwork in his arms as she strode past haughtily. 

"You should at least sign these before you leave,” she said on her way out. "Rommath must be a very patient man."

He did as she had bid, they all seemed to be important clearances for construction work and applications for land to be cleared for new farms in the south, before he made his way off to his rooms. 

There had been some wine during the meal with the farmers, but he had not had enough of it to have any real effect on him, yet that became his first excuse when he heard a strange noise through one of the windows. It sounded oddly like the wings of a large bird... Or a bat. But when Lor'themar peeked out into the growing darkness he couldn't discern anything out of the ordinary.

He let out a sigh, deciding he was just overworked, and entered his rooms, feeling an irrational, but still slight pang of disappointment that the bed was empty. 

Truly, he should know Rommath better by now. 

Hastily he undressed and hoped his dreams wouldn't be haunted by the paperwork he had yet to tackle back in his office. 

Rommath shook him awake the next morning, the light through the windows suggesting it was about an hour after sunrise. The mage had an unkempt look about him, as if he’d either just tossed on the robes he wore, or if he’d just fallen into bed wearing them.

“Halduron is back,” Rommath said giving him a pointed look. “And apparently he brought some rather…unorthodox company.”

Lor’themar frowned, forcing away the last vestiges of sleep as he crawled out of bed, taking each garment he was offered by Rommath and put them on.

“What sort of company?” he asked, peering over at Rommath.

“I do not know myself,” the mage admitted. “But the servant bringing the message looked rather spooked.”

“Did he tame some Scourge and brought them home?” Lor’themar said, quirking and eyebrow.

“I doubt even he would be that stupid,” Rommath responded, tightening the straps on Lor’themar’s mail vest with a hard tug.

“I suppose I should find out for sure," Lor’themar said with a slight smile, taking in Rommath’s disheveled appearance again. “And you should get some more sleep. If Halduron has been that foolish I will need you with all your faculties intact.”

“Does this mean we are done with treating me like an invalid then?” Rommath said crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“I suppose it does,” Lor’themar said and stole a quick kiss before he left.

He donned his Lord Regent face as he walked down the stairs. Halduron was his friend and he did trust him, but in the unlikely event that this was something more on the reckless side of things he would need to treat him as any other elf under his command.

Halduron was standing just inside the throne room, looking uncharacteristically nervous, throwing occasional glances out the grand entryway. When he saw Lor'themar approach, he straightened up and offered a salute, before giving him a queer smile.

"Do you remember that time I brought an injured lynx back to camp?" he said.

"Yes,” Lor'themar said, resisting the temptation to let out a frustrated sigh. "I believe it recovered during the night, tore out of its bonds and chased our hawkstriders halfway back to Silvermoon before we caught up with them. Sylvanas was furious with you."

"Well, what if there were several of them?” Halduron asked nervously, and once more turned to head outside, beckoning for Lor'themar to follow.

There was no need for the gesture, for Lor'themar hurried outside, steeling himself for the worst, though he wasn't quite sure what it might be.

What he saw still didn't match what imagery he had conjured up in his head during the seconds it took him to exit Sunfury Spire.

He might not have had much personal experience with them, but he had seen them in the aftermath of Vol'jin's funeral outside Orgrimmar and he was very much aware of what they were.

Demon hunters.

A few steps in front of the rest stood a very tall night elf demon hunter, the tallest Lor'themar had seen, if one ignored the infamous Illidan Stormrage and his brother. He positively towered over Halduron, but despite the harsh glow of his exposed eyes, there was something gentle about the way he cradled an injured blood elf demon hunter in his arms. It was only the shape of his ears and pallor of the exposed skin that gave away the racial identity of the injured elf as the carefully splinted wings that hung like broken branches blocked much of him.

Behind the tall guardian of the group sat another night elf atop Halduron's hawkstrider, who despite now entering his senior years bore the burden well. This night elf was tall as well, judging by the way his limp, injured leg hung nearly to the ground and unlike the others this one had his head down turned, his averted gaze clear despite the blinds he wore.

Then there was another blood elf, this one blond and bereft of the horns of his compatriots, crouching on the ground and nursing a bad shoulder wound.

They were rounded out by an equally horn-less night elf woman, standing proudly to the left of the tall demon hunter, despite the injuries that were forcing her to take shallow, wheezing breaths.

"They aren't really lynxes,” Halduron began when Lor'themar just kept staring at the ragged bunch standing at his doorstep. "But they didn't act that much differently when we found them washed up on shore."

He peered over at the crouched blood elf and shook his head.

"I wish you'd let me look at that," he told him and took one step closer, which was evidently one step to far, as the injured blood elf let out a fierce, deep growl lunging at Halduron with its hale arm, and those hands had sharp claws as there was a ripping sound when it managed to snag on the sleeve of Halduron's shirt. Halduron let out a yelp and nearly backed into Lor'themar in his effort to get away.

The blond then returned to fussing with its shoulder, was it... Yes, it was licking the wound.

"No, Halduron,” Lor'themar said. "That is exactly like an injured lynx."

"Stop that, Belath,” the tall and seemingly only uninjured demon hunter said with a sigh. "You should have let him tend to that."

The blond demon hunter, Belath, let out a whine at that, glancing over at Halduron, then back at the tall demon hunter.

"I suppose I should make introductions then,” the tall demon hunter said with an exasperated sigh, gazing over at Lor'themar with his somber fel glowing eyes. In his arms, the bandaged blood elf let out a low whine and shifted its position slightly.

"I am Jace Darkweaver,” he began. "The one in my arms is Tylos Darksight, the one to my left is Falara Nightsong, the one on the hawkstrider is Altruis and this one to my right is Belath Dawnblade."

He punctuated the last statement by shooting the blood elf a glare. Belath let out another wine in response, if he'd had a tail, Lor'themar reckoned it would be tucked far between his legs.

"I left another one in the stables, what was her name again?" Halduron looked over at Jace. "Izal something?"

"Izal Whitemoon,” Jace rumbled, nodding his head.

"She had some strange looking bats with her and she refused to leave them behind," Halduron explained. "I had to borrow an Elekk from a Draenei to lug them all back, and it wasn't very happy about that. Took off like a thing possessed once I offloaded the bats."

Lor'themar did a quick count. That was six demon infused elves in Silvermoon and thus far he had received no explanation for why they were here. Perhaps sensing the need for an explanation Halduron opened his mouth again.

"Seemed like they had some trouble with their ship and--"

"We were betrayed!" the woman, Falara wheezed out, showing a flash of elongated canines. "The allies we had fought with turned on us, thinking the loss of our Lord Illidan had weakened us."

The ferocious look on her purple face actually sent a small shiver up Lor'themar's spine.

"They thought wrong,” Falara continued, clenching her hands. "But they did damage the Fel Hammer, forcing us down into the sea here. Some of them managed to escape us, but Kayn, Kor'vas, Allari and Asha followed them north!"

"Wait, there are more of them?" Lor'themar asked and turned to Halduron.

"That's why I hurried back here," Halduron said. "These things are fast, even when they're injured, so I half-expected to find demon hunters fighting fleeing demons in the streets of Silvermoon."

"I am glad that you were wrong on that account,” Lor'themar said, pinching the bridge of his nose, at the same time as that strange sound he'd heard last night came back to him, that queer sound of wings... No, he'd just been tired.

"Well, then I will just ask if we could house these somewhere, until their injuries heal at least,” Halduron said. "It...just didn't seem right to leave them where they were."

"I promise I will keep my companions in line, Lord Regent,” Jace told him with a small bow, trying not to jostle the elf in his arms. "Perhaps, if there had been more demons for us to slay, we might have healed ourselves a bit from their passing, but now..."

Lor'themar grabbed hold of one of the servants that stood huddled by the entryway, gawking at the demon hunters outside.

"Tell me, do we still have those unoccupied rooms in the east wing?" he asked.

The servant started, but quickly gathered himself enough to blurt out a "yes," nodding vigorously.

"Well, make them ready,” Lor'themar said. "It looks like we have some guests..."

As the servants dashed off to work Lor’themar was slowly filled with trepidation. Rommath was not going to like this. For that matter, he wasn't sure how much he cared for this, despite the assurances from the apparent leader of the demon hunters.

Halduron helped the injured night elf the leader had called Altruis off Dal'diel. The hawkstrider let out a caw and ruffled his feathers, then began to preen himself as soon as the weight was off him. 

When the large night elf nearly buckled under his own weight Lor'themar felt forced to step up and offer his aid and together they brought Altruis to one of the spare rooms. The servants darted anxious look at them both as they bustled about. It certainly didn't help that Belath kept hissing and snarling at anyone that as much as stared at him crossly, but Falara somehow managed to calm him every time with a touch on the scruff of his neck. 

After the last injured demon hunter had been brought to a bed, something told Lor'themar the idea of doors and separation was a foreign thing to these altered elves so he didn't bother telling them about how the locks to the rooms worked, Halduron said he would go to the healers and see if he could find one willing to come here and offer their services.

"I may need to bribe someone,” he said with a grimace. "I did the best I could with Tylos' wings, but I never trained as a healer."

"Good luck,” Lor'themar said and meant it, placing a hand on Halduron's shoulder.

"Thank you for your aid, Lord Regent,” Jace said and offered them both a bow again. "I will do what I can for them in the meantime."

Miraculously, a pale faced healer did return an hour or so later, while Lor'themar was busy conversing with the tailors guild members he had blown off the day before. The poor man looked to him as if he was calling for help, but then he vanished off in the direction of the rooms that currently housed the demon hunters.

Lor'themar pretended not to hear the howl that echoed through the hallways not too long after. 

"Well, gentlemen and women, shall we consider this matter settled then?" he simply said to the shocked group of tailors. They glanced about themselves then seemed to decide it was better to let it be so they could leave.

Lor'themar felt a slight sinking feeling as he realized this would very likely result in a number of wagging tongues out there and rumors would always spread like wildfire.

Fire was a pretty accurate descriptor of the sight in front of him as Rommath teleported back into the Spire with the scent of fire and brimstone about him.

Jace had just arrived to ask for permission to go search for his missing companions when Rommath showed up, screaming bloody murder at them both.

"I leave my duties for just a short while and when I come back the Magisterium has been infested with vermin!" he howled. Lor'themar thought he could see sparks flying from the tips of his dark hair. "I was back but for a few minutes when I was nearly run down by three errant students followed by a group of demonic monstrosities!"

The mage's dark eyes flew to Jace and he bared sharp fangs at him.

"Just like this one!" he hissed. "They kept running despite my orders to halt, crashing through an alchemy lab and setting off a quite substantial explosion!"

"Are you alright?" Lor'themar heard himself ask, his eye scanning Rommath's body for injuries.

"I'm fine,” Rommath said irritably waving a hand at him. "However, Astalor is currently sporting neon green hair. He was quite frantic about it, as it wouldn't come out with water."

"I am sure the students appreciated the interruption when they continued their rampage through one of the lecture halls,"” Rommath said continuing his story with a low growl. "However, Archmage Inethven fell backwards from his lectern and the healers tell me he'll be on bed rest for a week! A full week!"

Rommath stopped to catch his breath, letting out an angry hiss.

"If I hadn't managed to dredge up that frost spell to stop them all in their tracks they might have been at it still, causing more mayhem."

"Surely those students must have done something to enrage them,”Jace offered, breaking the silence.

Lor'themar held his breath and Rommath’s eyes fell on Jace with the full brunt of his anger behind them.

"Pardon me, I am not sure I heard that right,” he said, slowly. "Are you saying those monsters should be forgiven for destroying my Magisterium?"

"I am saying they were not completely at fault,” Jace snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest, his own intricate tattoos glowing in time with Rommath's own. "Besides, they didn't kill them, did they?"

Rommath blinked once, twice.

"No,” he finally admitted. "After the students had literally wet themselves from fear the male among them told them to back off and then they left."

"See?” Jace pointed out. "We are not so monstrous as you think we are."

"Well, they still wouldn't heed me when I told them to stop and leave the premises!" Rommath insisted frantically, his voice rising an octave again. "They have no business holing up in there!"

When Jace wouldn't take the bait, Rommath turned to Lor'themar instead. 

"Well, do something about it!" he yelled at him. "They are trespassing without your permission!"

Lor'themar actually had to force himself to speak. It had been a long time since he had seen Rommath this upset.

"Actually,” he finally managed. "I have allowed a number of their kind sanctuary here in the Spire while they heal from their injuries."

"You what?!" Rommath yelled and Lor'themar actually steeled himself for a fireball to the face that never came.

Instead Rommath quickly turned around, teleported away and left them alone.

After a deathly silence the sound of Jace clearing his throat made Lor'themar flinch.

"I believe my compatriots have already been found,” Jace said. "So I had better seek them out and tell them the others are alright for now."

Lor'themar nodded numbly, then suddenly rediscovered the use of his tongue.

"You...might perhaps tell them that the Magisterium is not the best place to hang about in, for them," he said. "If one is seeking asylum in a place, it does not hurt to take care how you act around the locals."

Jace turned around and frowned.

"I have heard what the Horde did to the Kalimdor lands, full of my Kaldorei brothers and sisters, that they burned the our sacred tree to the ground, used plague against innocents and desecrated any Moonwell they got their hands on,” he said, voice low and rumbling, almost like a lion growling. "Tell me, is that what you mean by ‘taking care how you act around the locals’?"

Lor'themar thought to tell him that he had not much liked Sylvanas’ reasons for the campaign against the Kaldorei, that he mistrusted her reasoning and had thus only sent a token force of rogues and scouts, same as what he had done with the Exodar all those years ago. Those excuses sounded hollow to his own ears, so he did not speak them.

The Kaldorei were their enemies in a war they never wanted, and Lor'themar had felt sick at the tales the scouts brought back. Dying children were always horrific, no matter whose they were.

When he did finally speak, to the demon hunter's retreating back, it was something different that came out.

"I just think it advisable to not make an enemy out of the Magisterium, particularly the man who just yelled at you."

"I will bear that in mind,” Jace snapped, and then he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the smut chapter, but I fear I might disappoint some of you. :P (Meaning, it's not super advanced.)

There was a cold, empty bed waiting for Lor'themar that night and the night after that one and the next. He tried not to think about it too much, about the implications of it on their relationship, and told himself Rommath had reasons to be angry and perhaps he deserved the punishment. He did however, miss him terribly, not only because his stubborn refusal to be around him more than he had to meant he still needed Valtrois for some of the political wrangling. Suramar was very similar Quel'Thalas in more than one way, so she did have some valuable knowledge of when to offer honeyed words and when to be hard and unrelenting.

The demon hunters in the Spire caused very little trouble, mostly because the first days were spent fussing over the one with the injured wings who'd contracted a bad fever and according to the poor overworked healer they had all tried to pile into his bed next to him, until he'd protested that they might make it worse that way. It had been Jace that had smoothed that over in a way that prevented the poor healer from needing healing himself.

Eventually the demon hunter, Tylos, rallied back to full health and with that scare over, Lor'themar started to see more signs of his strange house guests. 

During a re-briefing with Halduron he’d spotted Belath huddling by a doorway, ears pressed flat against his head. 

"It's not you,” Halduron had said and gestured for the window behind them. “He’s here for Izal, back there.”

When Lor'themar turned around he saw another female demon hunter hanging upside down, peering in at them, her blindfolded gaze turned towards Halduron.

"She's started following me around,” Halduron had said, voice wavering slightly, as she waved shyly at him. "I think it's because I was nice to her bats. I think Belath is trying to get her to back off."

If Lor’themar wasn’t under the amount of stress he was he might have cracked a joke, maybe even laughed lightly at how Halduron suddenly found himself with unwanted female attention, and then a male protector to boot. But as it was, even putting aside the regular stress of simply running a nation, there was the regular messages and even messengers from Sylvanas urging him to spare more troops, wringing them one by one from his reluctant hands. He’d nearly ended up in a shouting match with a smug Forsaken woman over it the other day.

“How do you suppose it might seem to my rangers and the battle magi,” he’d said, glaring at the Forsaken who had the gall to grin back at him, leaning on her staff. “To those who still have very vivid memories of being tortured or seeing friends sacrificed to their Loa gods, to suddenly be called to aid the Zandalari, diplomatic assurances or not?”

“The Dark Lady and your Warchief supposes that you as well as they will follow her command," the Forsaken woman had rasped, ending the negotiations. 

Now, on top of that he had to somehow make the final preparations to receive Voren'thal, while figuring out what to do with these demon hunters who were not very good at staying out of sight. If he was to be completely honest, it was a small relief that several of them had actually taken to lingering in the Magisterium, for that way they were not out and about on the streets. He threw another look at the woman outside the window. She shied away from his stare in a rather odd way, while shifting her position to stare at Halduron behind his back. Yes, perhaps the magi were better suited to cope with the prospect of a demonic elf staring at them through a window, than a civilian was.

On the other hand, this meant his relationship with Rommath remained frosty. And with Scryers starting to appear through the new telematic portal to Shattrath to make sure all would be in readiness, this could not go on for much longer.

That Rommath actually appeared according to his summons the next morning was a relief, even as a voice in his head whispered that Rommath might be cross with him, but he’d left the days of outright insubordination far behind him.

“What is it?” Rommath demanded, glowering behind his high collar. “I should be back in the Magisterium cleaning up after your little house guests. Did you know I walked into my office to find one of them sampling my quills. And by that I mean she had them in her mouth!”

“I’m sorry,” might not have been the words Lor’themar had intended to come out of his mouth, but there they were, like stains on a white sheet. “I just wanted to inform you that Voren'thal will be arriving any day now and I hoped to hear you were prepared for it.”

Rommath paled slightly and averted his gaze.

“Like we don’t have enough to deal with right now,” he said. “You can’t delay the man a bit longer?”

“From what I have heard, Voren'thal doesn’t have much longer left in him,” Lor’themar said. “I will need you by my side when we receive him and his retinue.”

“Can’t Valtrois fill in for me there as well?” Rommath asked icily. “I hear she’s been doing a splendid job here in the Spire.”

“Voren'thal doesn’t know her,” Lor’themar said, his frustration causing him to raise his voice a notch. “It’s not becoming of you to be this petty, Rommath. I have my plate quite full as well, don’t fault me for accepting what help is offered me.”

Rommath’s scowl deepened and he clenched and unclenched his hands rhythmically as his tattoos flared briefly. He then let out a snarl and turned his back on him, yet while Lor’themar fully expected the mage to leave again, he didn’t.

“What will you have me do then?” Rommath asked quietly, after the silence had stretched out to a painful length. “What will you have me say to the man I used to blame for Kael’thas descent into madness? And now I can’t even tell him what I truly have felt because the man is dying and that would be improper.”

Rommath let out a sigh and leaned heavily against the doorjamb.

“And there is no where to retreat to, where I can think in peace,” he continued, voice weary. “There are demon hunters in my office finding new and infuriating ways to disturb any attempts at work, so I take it all home and even if I can make it to my bed I can’t sleep because then I remember that I am still so angry with you for not even trying to talk to me about it.”

“Well, I’m talking now,” Lor’themar said with a sigh, fighting the urge to reach out for the mage. “I am truly sorry that they are causing so much trouble. I could try to speak with Darkweaver again, though apparently he’s not their leader?”

Rommath let out an affirmative grunt.

“I remember seeing Kayn Sunfury with Kael’thas in Outland. Apparently he was the first Sin’dorei selected for the new soldiers Illidan was making,” he said, back still turned, so it was only by the tone of voice that Lor’themar could hear his anger rising again. “He had the gall to tell me that since it was called the ’Sunfury Spire’ he and his demon hunters should take it over for their own personal use.”

Rommath turned his head around now, eyes burning with some inner fire:

“I told him we were thinking of renaming it ‘Theron Spire’, so he shouldn’t keep entertaining those hopes.”

Some hope did rise then, within Lor’themar and when he did reach out to touch Rommath’s shoulder the mage let it be.

“We will find some way to solve this tangled knot,” Lor’themar said, voice soothing. “But I...we can’t do it on our own. Rommath, I need you…”

His heart pounded in his throat, but finally the mage turned fully around and buried his face in his neck, body pressed against his. When Lor’themar wrapped his arms around him, he felt something hard and unyielding inside him finally come undone. 

"This doesn't mean I've forgiven you,” Rommath said, voice muffled against his neck, his arms snaking around his waist.

"I guess I will have to be fine with that,”Lor'themar said with a sigh. 

A strange trilling sound made both their heads shoot up. In the doorway stood one of the demon hunters, Lor'themar recognized him at the one who'd had the broken wings. 

He could already feel Rommath tensing up in his arms, slowly reaching the point of danger. Emboldened by his closeness, Lor'themar decided to try another tack.

"Tylos, we do not sneak up on private conversations here,” he reprimanded, trying to give the demon hunter his fiercest ranger look.

The demon hunter twitched slightly, tilting his horned head to the side. 

"Sorry,” he rumbled out, then darted off, dragging his still rather lopsided looking wings after him.

Lor'themar felt Rommath deflate slightly.

"See,”he said. "Violence doesn't always solve everything. As long as you remember to account for all the demon inside them, they can be reasoned with."

"Still, no need to look so smug,” Rommath said, pinching Lor’themar’s goatee between two fingers and giving it a tug..

"Ow,” Lor'themar said with mock hurt and pulled Rommath closer. 

A smile played in Rommath's eyes as he lay claim to Lor'themar's mouth, his sharp canines drawing blood in their struggle for dominance. 

"I think you like a bit of violence,” Rommath said, smirking, as they briefly broke apart. "Perhaps that is why you get along with those demonic cretins."

"Maybe I do,” Lor'themar responded, with a smirk of his own, lips bloodied and bruised.  

He pushed Rommath up against the wall, retaking the advantage, heat radiating off Rommath's body. Lor'themar nibbled at an earlobe, at Rommath's neck, his body desiring nothing more than to compensate for all those lonely nights in his bed.

"Not here,” he heard Rommath say with a gasp, but there was no real conviction in his voice, as the mage began to paw at Lor'themar's clothing, tearing at bindings and straps. As Lor'themar finally reclaimed Rommath's mouth, the mage pulled him closer still and Lor'themar could feel the mage's arousal through his robes. 

"Does this mean you've forgiven me?" Lor'themar said with a grin, licking the blood off his lips. 

"Maybe if you stop talking,” Rommath growled, violently forcing their faces together again. It occurred to Lor'themar that he was going to look like he had been in a bout with a ferocious ferret, but he didn't much care. He could feel a strap give way with a snap and Rommath's hand was now inside his shirt, more sounds of fabric giving way and Rommath's hands began to roam lower, forcing a moan from Lor'themar's lips.

Maybe this slowly was becoming a very bad idea. 

His mind growing hazy with lust, Lor'themar tried to calculate the shortest distance from here to the nearest private room. 

"Can you teleport?” he murmured into Rommath's ear, nuzzling at it, sending a shudder through the mage.

"I would suggest the chamber to your right,” came Oculeth's voice from somewhere behind Lor'themar. "I sent the mages that were occupying it out on some errands and they should not be back for at least four hours."

They both froze, staring at the other like children who had just caught doing something extremely forbidden.

"Oh, wait, I believe that creature went extinct in the last few millennia, so they might eventually return when they discover that fact."

They remained starting at each other as the footsteps of the Nightborne receded fully.

"Well, what are you waiting for?”Rommath finally snapped with some urgency, yanking at the edge of Lor'themar's shirt. "My body hasn't caught up to how extremely unsettling that was, so we can still have a go at this."

Lor'themar let himself be led into the chamber, letting his shirt and mail drop to the floor as he went. 

"By the Light,” he heard Rommath say. "Is this lubricant?"

"He's considerate at least?" Lor'themar said, pressing himself up against Rommath's back, nipping at his neck, up to the base of his ears, reaching around to fondle Rommath's erection through his robes .

"The point was not to let my body take in what--" Rommath's words were halted by another moan escaping him. 

Lor'themar began to impatiently try to force away the fabric of Rommath's robes and was quickly rewarded, when they quickly began to part with a snap of the mage's fingers, slipping softly to the ground.

"Now then...” Rommath said huskily, surprising Lor'themar by forcing him down on the neat little couch in the room, straddling him with a hungry look in his eyes. 

The mage leaned down, nipping at Lor'themar's already bruised lips, his tongue forcing his way inside his mouth, as he pushed down Lor’themar’s breeches as far as they could go.

"I believe you like a bit of violence too,” Lor'themar forced out with a gasp, as their lips parted again.

Rommath responded with squeezing Lor’themar’s cock with one hand, wrenching a deep moan from him.

"Let's find out,” Rommath said.

 

___

 

Lor'themar had briefly mourned the loss of his shirt, it had been one of his favorites, and he still had some hope that the servants might mend it, but for now it was for the best that he had been wearing that one instead of one of his finer ones. And it was also fortunate that the damage Rommath had done to his mouth had been easily mended by a priest who made a point not to ask any questions about why it had looked as though a lynx had mauled it. It would not do to not look his best as he received the leader of the Scryers as he finally came home.

Rommath was standing beside him, a small storm contained behind a calm facade. Covering his blind side was Halduron, having managed to shake his demon hunter entourage for the time being.

The Nightborne were also in attendance, alongside Liadrin, Yrel, and some other representatives from the Magisterium. It appeared that Astalor had managed to bleach most of the green out of his hair, though it still had a rather sickly hint to it and he had the face of someone who had just bitten into a crab apple.

When the Scryers began to arrive through the telematic portal, Lor'themar mentally prepared himself for Voren'thal's arrival, yet when he did, it did still send a slight shock through him. The elf had been reduced to nothing but skin and bones, his robes hanging loosely over his frail frame. 

"Welcome home to Silvermoon, Voren'thal the Seer,” Lor'themar said, managing to keep his voice steady, letting it carry to everyone assembled in the throne room.

"Thank you, Regent Lord,” Voren'thal said, with a slight bow, probably as much as he could manage. There were two other Scryers flanking him and their leader was using them as support as Voren'thal approached.

"I have had special chambers here in the Spire prepared for you,” Lor'themar said. "We can take you there now, if you should you wish to rest.” "

"That can wait for a time,” Voren'thal said, his voice remaining surprisingly strong despite his emaciated appearance. "I wanted to see the city for myself first, to see if what the visions promised me has indeed come to pass."

"Very well,” Lor'themar said, glancing over at Rommath, who remained calm and impassive. 

Aided by his fellow Scryer magisters, Voren'thal slowly made his way outside to the Court of the Sun, the guards offering a salute to him as he exited, blinking in the strong sunlight.

"Ah,” the Seer said. "I had forgotten the light here... It is quite different from that in Terrokkar Forest."

Lor'themar saw Rommath clench and unclench his hands, but still the mage remained silent. Perhaps this would indeed go well.

"Oh,” Voren'thal suddenly exclaimed. "Children. There are children here!"

Lor'themar followed the old elf's gaze and saw the small group playing by the fountain. A couple of Sin'dorei children were instructing a group of Nightborne children on some game, their laughter echoing in the midday sunlight. Watching over them all was Salandria, the ward Liadrin had adopted a few years ago.

"I had been shown it, I had hoped..." Voren'thal said, his voice trembling. "But to see it with mine own eyes... Silvermoon lives again!"

Tears were now rolling down the old elf's narrow face and some of the powerful emotions evident on his face were echoed within Lor'themar, because, as he let his eye roam across the Court of the Sun, and the streets stretched out beyond it, he did see life, teeming, glorious life. 

It was true that a not insignificant number of those milling about, curious about the goings on had the dark skin and pale hair of Nightborne, but it did still mean that Silvermoon was finally showing true signs of recovery. 

"We made it through the worst, didn't we?” he mused, his voice low enough so that only Rommath and Halduron, standing closest to him, would hear.

"We really did,” Halduron said, his voice also showing signs of the emotions affecting him.

Rommath said nothing, but briefly captured Lor'themar's hand in his, giving it a squeeze.

What he left unsaid, he felt sure the other two knew already, that with what they had regained now, they truly had a great deal they could lose. Lor’themar knew he would lay down his life before Quel’Thalas could be reduced to the wretch it had been not too long ago.

 

Lor’themar stood close to the doorway, close enough for the support Rommath needed, but still not so close that he could actually hear what was being said inside the room. His old ranger training served him well, for through quick glimpses he could see inside the room. 

Voren’thal propped up in his bed, Rommath sitting next to him, hands clenched tightly in his lap. Voren’thal gesticulating, reaching out for Rommath, the latter pulling back sharply, letting his hands drop from his lap. The old elf clutching his hands to his chest, anguish on his worn face, his sharp cheekbones making him look half a corpse already. Rommath, with his gaze averted, hiding his face within the collar of his robes, his ears twitching. Voren’thal bent, the very image of someone broken, skeletal hands digging into the covers. Rommath, stubborn, unyielding, catching Lor’themar’s eye as he glances his way.

Voren’thal saying something, causing Rommath to jerk into motion, turning back towards him. Rommath, suddenly leaning in, his hands back in his lap, twitching restlessly. The old elf placing a hand on Rommath’s shoulder and the other mage allowing it to linger for a beat, before he shrugs it off. Rommath’s body giving a shudder and Voren’thal leaning back against the pillows a sad smile on his face. Voren'thal finally saying something and Rommath nodding, hands brushing restlessly at his robes as he gets up. The mage offered one last look to the older elf, their faces blocked from view by their current position and then Rommath strode towards him, face haggard, yet his eyes glowing with purpose.

"It went well, then?" Lor'themar hazarded to ask as they walked down the corridor.

For a time Rommath said nothing, making a few false starts, until he finally found his words.

"As well as it could, I suppose,” he said, his left hand twitching and Lor'themar stilled its unsettled motion by clasping it in his right. Rommath gripped his hand hard and they stutter, almost stumbled to a halt, when the mage leaned heavily against his side.

"I just need a moment,” he murmured softly. 

Lor'themar was all too happy to give it to him.

“He wants the old style of interment,” Rommath finally said, breaking the long silence. “Voren’thal insists the crypts under his old estates are still sound, he had Scryers investigate the matter for him.”

“Really?” Lor’themar said with a troubled frown. “Could we even… Are there even any mages left who knows the process?”

“I do,” Rommath said and suddenly Lor’themar became fully aware to the reasons for the mage’s current state. “Bel’ovir taught me shortly before… It feels an eternity ago now. I am sure if I read up on it in the old texts, gave a few of the more competent magisters some pointers on how to assist I could do it. It’s really a matter of shifting the state of matter into something less… Degradable. Fluids becoming solids.”

Rommath kept running his hands through his hair, starting to untangle black strands of hair from his ponytail.

“I cannot do it with those…things causing trouble,” he said, giving Lor’themar a pained look. “Unless you want all of Silvermoon to see me turn Voren’thal’s corpse into an oozing puddle if I get just one part of the spell work wrong, then…you need to make them stop!”

Rommath grabbed a hold of Lor’themar’s collar, face a mask of desperation. “Please do this for me.”

Lor’themar embraced the mage, heard Rommath let out a hitched sigh as he leaned into him.

“I will try my very best,” he told the mage.

“Do better than that,” Rommath hissed, though it was the anger of a kitten, a small harmless thing.

 

___

 

The night was pleasantly warm, and despite the lights of the city, the Nightborne brought with them a love of the dark, of festivities and fun romps under the stars and the Sin'dorei were all to happy to adopt those customs, the stars can still be seen strewn as precious jewels across the sky. Lor'themar's head was pleasantly fuzzy with drink and he resolved that this glass will be his last. Realistically, he really should cut back, if Rommath’s griping were anything to go by, but this was a special occasion, he reasoned to himself. There was a chirping of crickets in the garden and he found himself in good company. There would be no drinking to drown his sorrows tonight.

"You know,” Halduron said, only a slight slurring of his words revealing that he had, in fact, also had more than a few drinks tonight. "I feel like I should be surprised to hear you had sex in that room, but I'm actually not."

Lor'themar hoped he wasn't blushing, but he probably was. Halduron, utterly shameless, continued. 

"I'm just glad you've stopped pretending there's nothing going on there,” Halduron said, taking another sip from his glass, then peering over at him with a grin. "That bit with Oculeth though, that was pretty damn funny."

"Rommath refuses to acknowledge that ever happened,” Lor'themar said with a grin of his own, settling back in his chair, letting the scents of the garden permeate his senses. He should come here more often.It's so not far from his office, after all. Maybe he could even do his paperwork out here instead.

Halduron leaned in, attempting a whisper, but in his inebriated state it was only a few octaves below screaming. "Just... I'm curious, was that Nightborne stuff any good?"

Lor'themar felt his face grow hot with the recollections.

"I have no idea what they put in it, but I swear I felt myself leave my body at one point."

Halduron let out an impressed whistle.

"Please tell me you have some of that left,” he said. "Just let me borrow it sometime."

"It's in my bedroom,” Lor'themar admitted with some reluctance. "I should be able to spare some."

"Don't worry,” Halduron said with a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Maybe I can just ask Oculeth for some.”

"Assuming I can even get someone in my bed with those two still hanging around,” Halduron added with a grimace, running a hand through his hair. 

"The demon hunters?" Lor'themar asked. 

"Be quiet for a moment,” Halduron said, covering Lor'themar's mouth with his hand.

Off in the garden Lor'themar could just pick out a shuffling, a crackling of dead leaves and branches.

Halduron stood up and shouted into the darkness, "I can hear you back there, Izal, Belath!" 

The shuffling came closer and soon the heads of the two demon hunter popped out among the branches of the nearby trees.

"We're just watching!” Izal said. "Guarding."

"Fucking demons can be anywhere," Belath muttered and Lor'themar raised both eyebrows.

"He can talk?" he asked Halduron.

"Of course I can,” Belath snorted, rocking the branch he'd perched on. "Not stupid."

"You are pretty stupid though,” Izal offered, her eyes glowing green in the darkness. 

Belath let out a low growl, tackling the woman off her perch and there was a wild ruckus from the underbrush.

"Please be careful--" Lor'themar began, then winced as a yowl cut through the night air, followed by a crash, "--of the flower beds...oh, never mind."

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and took another deep, long drink. 

"They'll settle down in a bit,” Halduron offered pleasantly, though his voice was strained. "This is kind of what they do...Not so unlike our young Farstriders, in a way."

After they listened to the demon hunters squabble in the underbrush for a bit, Halduron turned back to Lor’themar, as he swirled the last dregs of his drink in his glass.

“You said there was something you needed me to do?” he asked, peering at Lor’themar.

“Well, according to Rommath, Voren’thal is set on an old style funeral, including interment in the vaults under his old estates,” Lor’themar said with a sigh, the news had not gotten much better with the telling of it. Those old services had a tendency to drag on for days. “He claims he has had the vaults checked, but I wanted to ask if you could go and make sure they really are sound. If we can’t put him in there…”

“We can always use old Voren’thal as a book end or something,” Halduron said, then raised an eyebrow at the lack of immediate reaction from Lor’themar. “Too soon?”

Lor’themar let out a groan and covered his eye with his free hand.

“You should be glad no one else was here to hear that," he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Alright, alright," Halduron said, with a wave of his hand. “I will send a group of scouts over there to check things out. Don’t worry about it, Lor.”

“That’s one load off my shoulders, then,” Lor’themar mused, glancing off towards where the demon hunters where finally settling down, as promised. “I still need to get over to the Magisterium and somehow convince the rest of them to be quiet so Rommath can prepare himself for the ritual. I am sure that will go splendidly.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Halduron said, squeezing his shoulder. “We’ve endured worse than this, surely?”

“That you have not convinced two of them to leave you in peace is not very encouraging for my case,” Lor’themar just said, as he gave his empty glass one hard stare, as if that alone might refill it.

Halduron’s mouth thinned and he began a staring contest of his own, which the glass seemed to win as he reached for the decanter to refill his glass.

“We only want to protect you from the demons,” came Belath’s voice.

“You were nice to my felbats,” Izal’s voice followed. “We want to keep you safe.”

The female demon hunter suddenly appeared over Halduron’s left shoulder and he gave a small start, which almost spilled his drink.

“I-I am grateful for that,” Halduron said, mouth pursed in concentration. “But you needn’t be so concerned, I think I could hold my own.”

“Are you sure?” Belath said, appearing next to Izal. “Are you fast enough?”

“I can assure you that Halduron has saved me with his speed plenty of times,” Lor’themar mused as he sipped his own drink, deciding to forget his earlier resolution to stop with the last drink.

Halduron nodded with perhaps a bit more enthusiasm then needed, but again, the two of them had had quite a few drinks tonight.

“If you’re sure then…” Izal said, sounding almost forlorn.

“Come on, Izal,” Belath grunted, grabbing her by the wrist. “He said he was fine, so stop mooning over him like a lovesick Felhound.”

“You take that back, you little shit!” Izal shrieked, but Belath had already leapt from the nearby tree, his wings taking him out of the garden. She took off after him in hot pursuit, and the normal sounds of the night descended once again.

“Huh,” Halduron just said after another moment had passed.

“Maybe I should take heart from that,” Lor’themar said with a lopsided smile, as he peered off in the direction the two demon hunters had vanished.

After another beat Halduron let out a sigh.

“You know, I kind of miss them now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guest starring Al'ar.

As Lor'themar made his way up the stairs to the tower room the magi students had indicated that the demon hunters were currently occupying, it occurred to him that this was something he should have dealt with properly as soon as the demonic elves had become well enough to leave their rooms in the Spire. The strange status of these new arrivals to Silvermoon was all due to his own negligence.

Rommath had been right to be upset with him.

Well, there was still time to amend things, to at least make an effort in ensuring they would respect his authority as long as they chose to remain here.

The shifting stares and glances of the magi as he passed did not fill him with overwhelming confidence though. It was one thing to curb one or two demon hunter's actions in the vicinity of the Spire, but the Magisterium had never been a place where he had belonged and now the demon hunters had staked out a territory within it. Lor'themar would be a hunter today, seeking a group of beasts in their den. So, it was with a hunter's caution that he entered the room his ears finally led him to. 

In the center of the room lay a great mound of blankets and pillows, a makeshift bed where a few of the demon hunters lounged on now, a pile of stretched out limbs and folded wings. By one of the windows sat Jace, perusing a pile of books that he had surely pilfered from the Magisterium libraries. A female blood elf hunter sat close to him, tending to her weapon, a scythe like object and-

With a loud thump, all bluster and posturing Kayn Sunfury dropped down in front of him.

"What are you doing here, Theron?" he demanded, as he extended his wings above his shoulders to appear larger than he was. "Are you Rommath's errand boy now? Telling us we must leave this place?"

The demon hunter flashed a smile that was all fangs.

"You can tell him we are quite content here and we are prepared to fight for it."

Lor'themar was beset by imagery of what might happen if Rommath truly did decide to resort to violence to expel the demon hunters and it was not in any way pleasant. He would do what he could to ensure that didn't happen, but the insult to his authority he could not let slide.

"You should well know by now that I am the highest authority here,” Lor'themar said, as he gave the demon hunter his most piercing stare. "I am here because you have made yourselves a nuisance to those under my authority and protection and I can not let that stand."

He crossed his arms over his chest, though he was not entirely sure of the extent of these elves vision. The ones on the bed were stirring though and had turned their heads towards him.

"Not so nice anymore is he?" said one of them, a night elf female with a face covering not entirely unlike Belath's. 

He recognized Tylos curled up next to her and Altruis who seemed to be dividing his gaze equally between Lor'themar and Kayn.

Kayn let out a low growl, his arms tensing, apparently to show off the sharp tips of his claws. Lor'themar was not unfamiliar with this sort of display, a dominant animal facing a challenger in its domain. He knew he had to stand his ground now, or the battle would be lost before it had even begun.

Lor’themar matched the demon hunter’s posture as much he could, never breaking eye contact with him. He had not had too much contact with Kayn Sunfury before he left with Kael’thas to Outland, so he had no real frame of reference for what to expect from the changed elf in front of him, or of how much of the old Kayn still remained. But he knew these sort of situations intimately, from his training, his many years spent roaming the lands and dealing with what situations he’d come across. He had come prepared for violence, not just the sword strapped to his waist, but one dagger concealed in his bracers and one in his boot, but Lor’themar would prefer to leave them where they were. 

The moment seemed to teeter on the edge of a knife, all eyes, if one could call them that still, trained on the two of them. Finally, something, or rather someone broke and Kayn let out a low growl before he lunged at Lor’themar, claws poised to strike. Lor’themar was able to step to the side and avoid the entirely emotionally driven attack, then he managed to grab a hold of Kayn’s neck, forcing the demon hunter to the ground, pinning him there with a knee to the small of his back.

Kayn squirmed under him at first, but after Lor’themar had applied some additional pressure around the base of his wings the demon hunter let out a whine, then finally settled down with a low rumble.

Only then did Lor’themar raise his gaze to scan the room and found that he now had the full attention of all of the demon hunters present. The blood elves among them seemed the most attentive, with the scythe wielding female smiling oddly at him and Tylos had gotten up from the bed pile and was now squatting not far from them. 

“Kayn,” he asked, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. “Does that make him our new leader?”

“He is not!” Kayn growled and made another attempt at getting up. Lor’themar made sure he knew that he was letting him get up, then he backed away what he thought of as a safe distance, as the demon hunter vaulted to his feet.

Kayn paced then, stretching his wings, his sightless eyes trained on Lor’themar. 

“What do you want, Theron?!” he yelled now, his hackles raised. 

Lor’themar saw through the act now, Kayn knew he had been bested, this was all about ensuring the demon hunters would still regard him as their leader.

“All I really want is for your people to leave Rommath be for a time,” Lor’themar said, spreading his arms in a conciliatory gesture. “He needs some peace and quiet for some important work.”

Kayn was still angry, but Lor’themar could see that the others were listening, especially Jace who was cradling one of the books fondly.

“We can stay then?” Tylos asked, still crouched on the floor next to the pacing Kayn.

“As long as you don’t cause any disturbances,” Lor’themar said. “I can see that you might have some special… needs when it comes to accommodations and until anything more suitable can be found, I suppose I can allow you to remain here.”

Tylos grinned, a gesture made a little bit more unsettling by the sharp fangs it revealed. 

“How very kind of you,” the scythe wielder said, striding forward and draping an arm around Kayn’s shoulders. “We shall be so grateful.”

“Be nice, Allari,” Jace said from his corner, a book once more open in his hands. (How did he read, Lor’themar wondered.) 

“Yeah, be nice or he’ll throw you down too!” Tylos said, jumping to his feet.

The female, Allari named, scuffed Tylos over the head as she passed him, but tried to look unconcerned as she returned to where she had been before. Jace bared his own fangs at her as she did, but them went back to his book.

Altruis finally left the bed and wandered cautiously over to Kayn, still pacing and he slung an arm over the demonic blood elf’s shoulders. After a brief scuffle, full of growls and bared teeth, he finally settled down and allowed Altrius to lead him back to the bed pile where he leaned against Altruis’ side. The female still on the bed let out a whistle, poking at Kayn, who snapped at her, then pulled on her braid until she let out a hiss. Altruis pulled Kayn away from her and wrapped one of his arms around him in a comforting manner.

Lor’themar did a quick head count and realized he was coming up short by at least two.

“Where are the others, Kayn?” he asked, making sure to focus on him instead of any of the others.

“Izal is with her bats in the stables,” Kayn rumbled, nuzzling lightly at Altruis neck. “Belath, Falara and Kor’vas went to check on Al’ar again.”

Lor’themar felt a frown descend on his face. 

“That is not advisable at all,” he said. “Kayn, surely you should know that Al’ar should be handled with caution?”

Kayn shot him a glare. “It’s good practice for sneaking up on demons; if they get singed, that’s their own fault.”

Despite what he supposed passed for reassurance from Kayn, Lor’themar felt a bad feeling settle deep into his gut and he quickly left the room to make sure nothing worse than some light singing happened.

He had not made it even halfway up the final flight of stairs to the tower room which Al'ar had finally settled in some years ago when he heard a loud shriek, followed by a pained yell. The low-level heat which Lor'themar only now thought to make note of suddenly grew in magnitude to the point that he was feeling sweat bead on his forehead and trickle down his neck.

Another upset shriek shook the air, which now rippled from the heat. It was starting to feel like Lor'themar was standing close to a furnace. 

Suddenly two demon hunters appeared at the top of the stairs, extending their wings to glide the rest of the way down.   
One of them, the one Lor'themar recognized from the sad injured troop Halduron had first brought to the spire, yelled over her shoulder.   
"Let go of those stupid feathers, Belath! Maybe it will leave you alone then!"   
After the name had been called, the demon hunter in question appeared, his claws clicking and scrabbling against the marble, clutching a handful of glowing feathers in his hands, his skin actually smoking as the began to stumble down the stairs. And behind him, came Al'ar in all her fearsome beauty.   
After Kael'thas death, no one had been allowed to come close to her at first, anyone who dared had been shown just how deadly an enraged phoenix god could be. Yet, with time and with small steps taken, she did allow some to approach her. Much like any heartbroken thing, she did still crave companionship and consolation from like-minded souls. Rommath had been one of the first she had let touch her, perhaps it had been because of this she had eventually settled here, at the very top of the tower of the Magisterium.   
She completely filled the space at the top of the stairs, the parts of the walls and ceiling that her wings touched gave off a sizzling sound, the smell of burning paint filling Lor'themar's nostrils. 

Belath made a brave effort to follow his two companions, but Al'ar would have none of that and let out another loud cry as she dove for him, raising her claws to rake him. The demon hunter unfurled his own wings and made to dive down, but the wings caught him in the back and sent him into an awkward tumble down the stairs. His descent was only stopped by Lor'themar's boots.   
The heat of the approaching phoenix made Lor'themar want to flinch, to back off and retreat, but he knew what would happen to the demon hunter huddling by his feet if he did. He could hear Rommath yell at him in his head as he took one step forward, turning himself into a shield for Belath.   
For a second Lor'themar thought the phoenix would just barrel through him, but then she stopped not more than a few feet away, the wall of heat she sent off was not unlike staring straight into the sun. This close he could see her eye appraising him, judging his actions. It was both awe-inspiring, and also terrifying.   
"Belath,” Lor'themar hissed between clenched teeth, afraid to move even an inch. "For the Sunwell's sake, why did you decide to pluck feathers off her?"   
The demon hunter had unfurled slightly from his huddled position, the smoking wounds on his back slowly sealing themselves with a disturbing hiss.   
"To see if I could?" he offered as he stared down at the feathers he still had in his possession.   
"Perhaps if you give them to me, she might not kill us both,” Lor'themar said, carefully and ever so slowly extending his right hand towards Belath. He only felt the feathers as they were released into his grasp and would not have dared looking away for confirmation for even a second.   
Quickly he raised his hand and dropping down to one knee he offered the pilfered feathers to a still furious Al'ar.   
"My apologies,” Lor'themar said. "Take these which belong to you, and do with them as you wish."   
“‘m sorry,” he heard Belath grunt from behind him.   
Al'ar shifted her gaze from Lor'themar, to Belath and back, then let out another loud cry before she quickly snatched the feathers out of Lor'themar's hand and promptly proceeded to swallow them down.   
Only when she was done with this, she began to retreat, though she stopped once to give out another cry, flapping her wings in a threatening manner.   
It was only when she had finally disappeared, back into the tower rooms, that Lor'themar finally let out a breath he had not realized he'd been holding and turned around to look at the demon hunters.   
"I hope you all learned a valuable lesson today,” he said, aiming most of his ire at Belath, crawling unsteadily to his feet.   
"Yeah, don't take the feathers,” Belath said, as he began to poke at a blistering burn on his arm.   
"Stupid,” the female demon hunter Lor'themar recogized said, hitting Belath over the head.    
"You should have stopped him, Falara,” the other female said, resettling her wings against her back.   
"Maybe you shouldn't have goaded him on!" she replied with a hiss.   
The other female responded by cuddling up to Belath, stopping him from poking more holes in the blisters.   
"Kor'vas is best,” Belath said with a content rumble, then as the trio continued their walk down the rest of the stairs, back towards "their" room, he turned back to peer at Lor'themar behind his mask. "Lor'themar pretty good too."   
"Thank you,” the one named Kor'vas added with a nod before she ushered Belath away. 

Later that night, as they lay entwined in bed together, Rommath nuzzled up to Lor’themar’s ear and murmured a “thanks”.

It took awhile for Lor’themar’s sated and content mind to realize what the mage referred to, but when he did he smiled. 

“I think they might leave Al’ar alone now too," Lor’themar said. 

“One should hope so," Rommath responded, resting his head on Lor’themar’s shoulder. “Though one less demon hunter would not be a very great loss.”


	4. Chapter 4

Though days had passed without any incident reported from the Magisterium, that was the first thing that popped into Lor’themar’s mind when a servant hurried into his office, stopping to catch his breath on the threshold.

“Voren’thal is dead!” he finally gasped out. “One of the Scryers had been sitting with him when he suddenly, well…”

“I suppose that was expected," Lor’themar said, getting up from his seat. “Though I would not have minded if he had clung to life for another day or so…”

He dismissed the servant, then turned to Valtrois, who’d been helping him sort through the incoming correspondence. 

“Hurry yourself to the Magisterium and notify Rommath," he said. “If he needs you for anything, you are to help him in any way he asks.”

She nodded curtly and began to shape a portal with one elegant hand. 

“Shall I notify anyone else?” she asked before she vanished. 

Lor’themar shook his head. “I expect word to spread fast enough.”

He drew a steadying breath into his lungs. There hadn’t been a state funeral in Quel’Thalas since Kael’thas and though Voren’thal’s role in the history of their race had been very different, the rank he bore...Had born, Lor’themar corrected himself, demanded a proper send off. 

Lor’themar quickly found the funeral plans he had been working on together with Rommath and Valtrois, the elegant handwriting from the two magi seemingly competing with the other over the best way to organize things. He found himself smiling fondly at it, wondering at why Rommath had not insisted that Valtrois return to Suramar, but also why she had chosen to extend her stay. Perhaps he’d send out an invitation to First Arcanist Thalyssra to attend the funeral, they might have some time to speak privately after all the ceremonies had concluded. 

A sound caused him to look up and from the swirling motion of a portal an elf, shrouded in void stepped through. 

Lor’themar unsheathed his sword in one quick motion, then opened his mouth to sound the alarm. And then something slammed into him from behind, sending him tumbling over his desk, scattering paper across the room. 

He quickly found his feet, shaking his head to rid himself of the last vestiges of whatever spell that was, finding another void elf grinning behind him. Lor’themar abandoned all thoughts of his sword and instead pulled out one of his hidden daggers, but what hit him next made it tumble from his suddenly limp fingers. Whatever it was, it made him lose his footing, his head hitting the edge of his desk on the way down, sending stars to dancing before his eyes. 

Lor’themar tried to force himself into motion, but then it hit him again and this time it hurt. A scream was ripped from his throat as a feeling, like the igniting of several small suns shot through his body. As the pain finally receded he felt a foot press down on the small of his back.

“Do you remember my sister?” a voice hissed. “She once worked at the Spire, you know, before her search for knowledge led her to join me and those others who decided to follow Umbric. Do you remember when you sliced her open and spilled her insides on the ground?”

Another surge of energy hit him, forcing another scream from him, until he found himself choking on his own blood. 

“Murderer," he heard spoken above him, as the foot jammed itself deeper into his back. “Killer. Usurper of the throne. Lover of monsters.”

The next surge sent more blood pouring from his mouth, his nose, sending him into a coughing fit, his entire body spasming.

There was a loud cry from the door and somehow Lor’themar managed to turn that way to look. Rommath!

He tried to issue a warning, but the mage was already forming a spell, yelling obscenities at the elf standing on him. The fireball fizzled to the ground as a third void elf emerged from behind a bookcase to blast Rommath with the same painful energy, void energy. But, when the mage opened his mouth to scream, not a sound came out, so when he crawled back to his feet he could only stare impotently at the attackers, his own spells silenced.

Lor’themar must have briefly blacked out, for when he opened his eye again, Rommath was on the ground again, his face contorted with pain, a dagger of his own clutched in one hand, but when the mage caught his eye, the mask of anger and pain changed to one of utter despair. 

Rommath tried to say something, but still he was silenced, fangs pulled from his mouth. Lor’themar tried to read his lips, this seemed important, but then the pain swallowed him up again and now the blackness that threatened on the edges of his vision pulled forward, a gift of mercy. 

Yet, as the world faded, Rommath last of all, he thought he could hear the sound of many wings, perhaps of birds, or maybe large bats. The sound of claws on marble, then nothing.

 

Lor’themar woke by small increments. 

A twitch of an itchy ear, the taste of metal in his mouth, soft sheets underneath him, the faint sound of a ticking clock. And the soft, warm weight of something curled up next to him.

When he managed to crack open his eye he was surprised to gaze into the golden gaze of Rommath’s cat, a loud purring starting up as she got up from her curled up position. She let out a loud meow, padding over to the slumped form in the chair next to his bed. His bed, he was in his chambers, the pale light of the moon the Tauren called “Mu’sha” shining in through the windows. 

The form in the chair stirred and murmured out a weak “Kim’alah?” before it lit the lamp on the bedside table.

And Rommath froze like a deer caught unawares in a clearing.

“Lor’themar?” he said, voice trembling.

“M’yes?” Lor’themar managed to wrestle from his tongue, the clouds still lingered on the edges of his mind, he didn’t care for the feeling much.

Voice still unsteady Rommath spoke again.

“What do you remember?” he asked, still standing by the light of the lamp, causing shadows to play on his weary features.

Lor’themar frowned as he pulled the memories from a reluctant mind.

“I remember… Pain. Void elves,” he said haltingly. 

“What else do you remember?” Rommath asked, a pleading look passing over his face.

“I… Am still Lord Regent of Quel’Thalas,” Lor’themar began. “I was supposed to arrange a funeral for Voren’thal and you…”

He paused, his eye taking in the deep shadows under Rommath’s eyes, the hair escaping from his ponytail, the untidy look of the ceremonial robes he wore. His eyes were wide and now they filled with fear.

“You are Rommath,” he continued. “My lover, my companion and nagging partner.”

With an exhaled breath Rommath fell back into the chair, briefly covering his face with his hands.

“They warned me you might never wake up again,” he said, letting his hands drop down into his lap. “That you wouldn’t be the same if you did, if the bleeding in your head had been too extensive…”

“I am glad to prove them wrong then,” Lor’themar said, managing to wrestle a smile onto his face.

Rommath said nothing, letting his gaze drop to his lap, which Kim’alah decided to take full possession of. 

“What of the funeral?” Lor’themar found the energy to ask.

“We laid Voren’thal to rest in the crypts underneath his ruined estate yesterday morning," Rommath said, stroking the purring cat. 

“So, I missed it,” Lor’themar sighed. “A pity.”

Rommath looked up at him. “Liadrin performed your part admirably, and everyone else did their share.”

“And you managed?” Lor’themar asked. 

Rommath nodded. 

“With some help from Valtrois,” he admitted. “But the ceremonies were a bit scaled down, considering the circumstances.”

Lor’themar let out a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps saving the grand gestures for the Regent Lord, then?”

Rommath shot to his feet, sending the cat leaping to the floor.

“Don’t you dare say that!” he yelled, anger clouding his face. “Don’t you dare even joke about it!”

He then went limp and once more fell into the chair, shoulders heaving and shaking as he once more hid his face in his cupped hands.

A stab of pain shot through Lor’themar’s breast, and he managed to untangle a hand from the blankets and sought out Rommath’s hands. When the mage felt his touch, he quickly claimed the hand and cradled it gently to his face. Lor’themar could feel the tears, could feel the coarse stubble along the jawline.

“Sorry,” Lor’themar  whispered, his heart aching and he managed to move himself enough on the bed that Rommath could climb on and drape himself next to him.

“If you do this to me again,” Rommath began, voice wet and broken against his neck. “I will kill you myself.”

“I will endeavor to do better then,” Lor’themar said. “For you.”

Rommath finally fell silent, his hands snaking around his waist, head resting against him with a sigh.

“It’s only a pity,” he said, “that now I have to grovel to and thank those… _ them _ .”

“Who?” Lor’themar asked, mind searching back through his fragmented memories.

“The demon hunters.” Rommath said, raising his head to look him in the eye. “You would not be here if not for their timely arrival. Made a mess of your office too, the interior decorators were all very distraught about it.”

“Good,” Lor’themar murmured. “Maybe I can have my offices moved to the garden then.”

Rommath opened his mouth to say something, then just shook his head and let his head drop to rest against him again.

A clacking of claws caused Lor’themar to look up though, and saw Belath, hovering by the doorway to the bedroom.

“He wasn’t fast enough," he said, glancing over his shoulder. Belath clarified, “Halduron wasn’t.”

“He’s sleeping in the other room,” Rommath mumbled against his chest. “He can have you tomorrow, but now you’re mine.”

Lor’themar breathed in the scent of Rommath’s hair, unwashed, but still lovely. 

“Don’t you understand, Rommath?” he said. “I’m always yours, all yours.”

Rommath let out a queer sound, his hand clenching against Lor’themar’s side.

“Privacy, Belath!” a voice hissed from one of the windows. When Lor’themar glanced up he caught a glimpse of one of Tylos’ curved horns before he vanished again.

“Now we’re even,” another voice purred from the other window, sounding like Kor’vas. “Though maybe… he owes us more.”

“Hush!” Tylos rasped again and she fell silent, Belath also retreated with the click of claws on stone.

“They set a guard on you,” Rommath said sleepily. “Halduron asked…”

The mage raised a hand and with a gesture the light went out, darkness wrapping them all in its embrace once more. But not complete darkness. 

There was still the moon, the green glints of Belath’s eyes by the doorway, the queer reflections of Kim’alah’s eyes as she jumped back on the bed. The glow of Rommath’s eyes as he looked up on him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I was afraid I would not get to say it.”

Lor’themar’s breath caught in his throat and he raised a hand to stroke away strands of hair from the mage’s upturned face.

The moment stretched on, but was halted when Kim’alah began to climb them, forcing herself down to sleep around the tops of their heads. 

Rommath let out a grunt as a paw caught in his hair for a moment.

“Let her be,” Lor’themar murmured. 

He was about to let himself be pulled back into sleep, a good proper sleep this time, when a thought hit him.

“Rommath?” he asked.

The mage let out a grunt.

“Do you still have that hearth stone?” Lor’themar continued.

“Yes?” came Rommath’s uncertain voice.

“I think it’s time I used it, with your approval,” Lor’themar said. “I have some questions that need answers.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's one Chekov's gun fired.  
> Very obviously to be continued.

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal heartfelt thanks to Shira/FlyingLlamas and the others in Disaster Elves chat.  
> You are all good people and sources of inspiration and ideas.


End file.
